Ready for the Fight
by LiberatedPen
Summary: Set after April's suicide while Roger's going through withdrawl. Primarily a MarkRoger friendship. Other characters make appearances as well.
1. Unprepared for the Hug

-1**(Mark's Perspective)**

"I hate you. Do you know that? I fucking HATE YOU!" Roger screamed at me, clawing at my body, doing everything he could to get me away from the door, out of his path to freedom.

"You hate how you feel right now. Stop. Just _stop_, Roger. You hate how you feel." I said as his strength started to ebb, and with it his anger. Thank God. There's no way I would have been able to hold him back much longer. Even now, even weak like he is, he's a lot to handle. His single-minded determination to get to his dealer is scary.

Roger started to slip, shivering, to the floor, and I was able, finally, to put my arms around him and support him instead of brace myself in order to stave him off.

"I want to feel better. Mark, please help me feel better." He whispered as we neared the couch.

"I am, Roger. You just don't know it yet." He climbed onto the couch, his face pressed into the fabric of the back, shivering. I piled blankets on top of him, knowing that in a few minutes he'll feel like he's burning up and I'll just have to take them off again.

"Water." I heard him mumble against the couch cushion.

"Ok." I said, taking a few steps to the kitchen to fill a glass, one eye on him the whole time. I can't trust him anymore. Sometimes he makes me think he's calmed down only to spring for the door, or the fire escape, the second my back is turned. I won't let him. It's not gonna happen. I don't care how long it takes.

As I walked back towards him, I saw a new bruise forming on my forearm. Add it to the list. It's been a rough few weeks. And it doesn't look like it's going to let up any time soon.

A knock on the door made me jump.

"It's Collins, man. I'm coming in." I heard Collins call through the door.

"Go ahead." I called back, and heard Collins unlock the door. After way too many attempts by Roger to escape when one of us was coming or going, we settled on alerting each other that we were about to enter so that the other could make sure Roger was far away from the door.

"Hey. How is he?" Collins asked. He was carrying a bag of much-needed groceries.

"Just settling down." I told him. Roger had drifted off to sleep after I tipped some of the water into his mouth.

"Ok. Get out of here for a bit." Collins instructed me, pressing a twenty dollar bill into my hand. "Some of the gang's at the Life. Go be normal for a little bit."

"Fat chance." I retorted, and he laughed. I went, reluctantly, into the bathroom to wash up. I tried to blank my mind to what had happened there. 'Fat chance' echoed in my head. There would be no forgetting what April had done.

My face was sweaty and my hair a mess. And I _definitely_ needed to change my shirt.

As I walked to my room to grab a fresh t-shirt, I heard Roger crying. "No. Collins, please don't let him go. What if he does something bad? It's easy to do something bad. Please make him stay." He was sobbing into the front of Collins' shirt, but must have seen me out of the corner of his eye, because he suddenly jumped up and ran to me, pinning me against the wall. "Please don't leave, Mark. Please don't go. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He cried, pulling me down to sit on the floor as he wrapped himself around me.

"Roger, it's ok. It's just for a little bit. I'm just going to go for a walk. Ok? I'll be back in ten minutes." I said, feeling like I was talking to my five-year-old nephew, Danny.

"No. No. You can't. Please don't. I need you." He'd begun to shiver again, his body rocking back and forth before the tremors _really _started. The way he'd wrapped himself around me, there was no way I was moving, even if I'd wanted to.

"Ok. Ok, Roger. I'll stay. Ok?" I told him.

"Mark, you need a break." Collins said, looking like he disapproved that I'd given in.

"He doesn't get one." I replied. What I was going through was nothing compared to Roger's pain. His girlfriend committed suicide. He found out he has HIV. He's going through withdrawl.

"Because you don't fucking let me have one." Roger spat at me, his head coming up off of my shoulder. "One. One hit. That's all." He begged.

"No." Collins and I answered in unison. Roger quickly disentangled himself from me and stood up. I jumped to my feet as well, waiting to see what he would do next. One second he's angry, the next sad, the moment after that sincerely apologetic, but always, always wretchedly sick.

"Roger," I began, talking to him the same way I would an injured animal, "let's go sit down, ok? Are you hungry? Collins brought food." I said, slowly inching towards him. His expression was frantic and scared.

**(Collins' Perspective)**

"Get the FUCK away from me!" Roger yelled, shoving Mark as hard as he could, sending him crashing into the coffee table. I heard glass shatter and Mark cry out in pain as I grabbed Roger from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Are you ok?" I asked over Roger's shoulder. He struggled against me, his body shaking with every breath.

"Let go. Let go. Let go. Let go." he muttered over and over.

"No. The glass cut me." Mark said.

"Shit, how bad?" I asked. This is the last thing we need. Roger's body wrenched suddenly and we fell to our knees.

"Ow, Jesus, you're hurting me!" He yelled in my ear. I still wouldn't let go.

"Mark? How bad?" I repeated. I made Roger lay out flat on the ground, knowing he's too weak to resist. He lay there limply, unable to fight anymore.

"I don't know." Mark said, slowly sitting up, his left hand on his right upper arm.

"Let's see."

"I'm gonna wash it out. I hope there's no glass in there."

"Yeah." I saw numerous bruises visible on Mark's exposed skin as he walked to the kitchen sink. The cut didn't look too bad. Hopefully no need for stitches or anything. Roger had suddenly started whispering to himself.

"_I _did that. Me. He is broken because of me. How did I get here?" I listened more intently to Roger's hushed voice as he spoke, "Mark, I'm sorry. You're paying for my mistakes. I'm taking out all the- all the- everything on you. And you don't get mad. Thank you, thank you, thank you." His gaze was trained on Mark, who had washed out the cut and was applying a bandage. Roger somehow managed to throw me off of him and bolted up before I could stop him. Mark heard the scuffle and turned, ready for the fight but not at all prepared for the hug. "I love you." Roger told Mark, hugging him tightly.

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Thoughts? Not sure if this is a one-shot or a little series. Let me know what you think!


	2. Keep Moving

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready for the Fight**

**(Collins' Perspective)**

I was walking up the stairs with a load of clean laundry when Roger came tearing down them two at a time. He was so intent on getting out that he didn't even see me, so it was easy for me to grab him when he got close.

Realizing it was me, he struggled against me, making me drop the laundry and lose my balance. I hoped to Got that we wouldn't fall down the stairs.

"Let me go, Collins." He said, shoving me away, but I lunged for him again. "Seriously, let me GO!" He yelled as I wrestled him to the ground.

"Are you done?" I asked, out of breath. "Are you finished?" There was a pause and he stopped struggling and lay there passively without answering me. I thought this would get easier with time, not worse. That he'd want it less, but it doesn't seem to have waned, just… taken on a new form. "Lets go." I said, yanking him up by the arms and making him go up the stairs ahead of me. We went up a few steps without incident, but then Roger twisted around slightly to look at me.

"Collins, come on, I'm fine! We don't need to do this anymore! I'm _fine_." He told me. "Let's go up to the roof. How about we go up to the roof?" He asked, speaking really quickly. When I didn't answer, his tone changed. "Collins, Jesus, don't you trust me? What the hell, man-" He tried to stop walking and turn completely around but I cut him off.

"Shut up, Roger. Keep moving." I told him.

The closer we got to the loft, the more he squirmed, begging me to go up to the roof. I was getting more and more suspicious and didn't know what to expect next.

"No. No, Collins, please, I don't want to go back in there. Please don't make me go back in there." Roger begged, grabbing on to both sides of the door and bracing himself so that I couldn't move either of us forward.

"Let go of the door." I told him, trying to pull his right hand free. Then, "Let go of the damn door, Roger!" I yelled, seeing past him and into the apartment; Seeing Mark lying on the floor.

"Collins, I didn't-" Roger began frantically, but I forcibly pulled both his hands free and dragged him inside, flinging him into his room and pulling the door closed. "Collins, NO! Collins, please, I didn't- I didn't- PLEASE!" He screamed, pounding on the door, beginning to cry. I held the door closed, looking for something to prop against it. I finally pulled a chair over with my foot and stuck the chair at an angle under the door knob, then turned and knelt next to Mark, hearing Roger's angry voice and pitiful sobs in the background.

There wasn't any blood, which I took as a good sign, just a very swollen bruise on his forehead above his left eye. I hope he doesn't have a concussion.

"What did you do, Roger?" I called to him.

"Nothing. _Nothing_, I swear!" He called through the door.

"Bull. What'd Mark do, hit _himself_ in the head?" I spat back at him. I guessed that Mark had been out for at least three or four minutes. I pulled his eyelid up, not entirely sure of what I was looking for, but seeing that his eye was sort of rolled back slightly. At any event, at least he was breathing.

Roger had stopped yelling and pounding on the door but I could still hear his muffled sobs from the next room. Good. He should feel guilty. He should feel bad. I looked down at Mark and felt guilty myself.

Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe it's not completely Roger's fault. I don't know. Mark's a lot more forgiving about this whole thing than I am. No. I'm forgiving, I just don't make allowances for Roger like Mark does.

I got a glass of water and a rag and tried to cautiously apply a cold compress to Mark's forehead but slipped a little and touched the bump. Mark groaned quietly and his face grimaced.

"Mark? It's Tom. Are you okay?" I asked, hoping he was waking up. "Mark?" Suddenly his eyes sprang open in alarm.

"Roger. Where's-"

"He's in his room. Are you okay?" I asked. Mark blinked several times, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised after each blink. "Mark?" I repeated.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm… okay." He reached a hand up and gingerly touched his forehead. He took a quick breath through pursed lips. "How long was I out?" He asked, sitting up.

"Not sure. Five minutes?" I guessed. "What happened?"

"Ah," He paused, trying to remember. "The usual, I guess. He wanted out. Really badly, apparently." He stood up slowly and walked to Roger's door.

"Leave him in there, Mark." I said. He glanced at me, then leaned towards the door.

"Roger?" He called.

"Mark? Mark, let me out. Open the door. Please." Roger said, sniffling. No apology. No concern. I hate that drug. The things it makes people do aren't ever worth it.

"I'll let you out in a while." Mark paused for a second but before he could speak, Roger snapped,

"You can't keep me in here! It's not right!" He started slamming things around. "I hate you both. You can both go to hell." He hissed through the door.

"Roger? You can't do this kind of stuff." Mark said, trying to stay calm. "I'm really pissed off that you did that." Mark told him, surprising even himself. There was a long pause, but Roger didn't say anything back.

"I'm gonna go see if the clothes still in the stairwell." I said. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd already been nicked.

"Ok." Mark said, going and sitting on the couch. I turned to go out the door but was breezed past by Maureen.

"Hey. Careful on the stairs. There're clothes everywhere." She said.

"Yeah. I know. They're ours." I told her. I don't know what's with her lately.

"Oh." Maureen said. She said hi to Mark, then went into their room without so much as noticing the bruise on his forehead. He didn't say a word about it. I ran down the stairs to grab our clothes and be back in the apartment to see if she'd pay any attention to Mark at all.

He had told her that he didn't want her to be here while we were taking care of Roger because he was afraid she'd get hurt, so she packed a few bags and left without a fight. Mark pretended everything was fine between them, but I knew something was off. I just didn't know what. Now Maureen only shows back up if she needs something and Mark focuses all his energy on Roger in order to ignore it.

Inside the loft, I started refolding the clothes on the table. Mark hadn't moved from his place on the couch and Maureen was still in the bedroom.

"If you want you can go out tonight. Take Maureen to dinner." I suggested, trying to be helpful. Mark laughed.

"Right." Pause. "Hey, Maureen, want to go get some dinner together?" He called.

"Sorry, Marky, I made plans. Rain check?" She asked, coming out of their room with a few things as Roger started ranting and raving about Mark leaving.

"Sure." Mark responded. Maureen left again without even looking at him. Roger calmed down, realizing that Mark wasn't going anywhere. And I just watched it all from the sidelines.


	3. He Can't Save You

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready for the Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Hey, Roger-" I said, knocking on the door to his room. He'd been in there for about half an hour without complaint. I hadn't locked him in or anything, but still. For Roger to do anything without a fight these days is rare and unexpected. "Roger?" I asked. No answer. I tried the handle. Locked. "Hey, let me in." I called through the door. He had to remember that I knew that the door would unlock if I pulled the handle towards me while I turned it.

He didn't answer, so I popped the lock and walked inside his room cautiously. The smell was the first thing that hit me. Mostly because of him. Because he wouldn't shower.

"Roger-" I began, seeing him lying on the bed, then froze. "What the _fuck_." I said, pissed off to all hell. A belt was wrapped around his upper arm and a needle was hanging out of his arm. He was breathing deeply, seemingly unaware that I was even there, his eyes lazily traveling around the room. "Where did you get that?" I asked through clenched teeth. He was out of his mind enough to tell me. He lifted his hand and pointed in the general direction of his dresser. I ransacked what was left in the drawers trying to see if he had any more but I didn't find anything. Roger laughed as I threw things around.

I looked under the dresser. Nothing. I glanced behind it. Fuck. There was a hole in the wall. Nothing in it except a box containing two syringes and a lighter.

"How long have you been using again?" I asked, about ready to cry. All these weeks have been for _nothing_? How did he get it? Why did I let him stay in here for so long? What do I do? What do I do? "Answer me. _How long_?" I asked, standing over him. He finally looked at me, his eyes growing larger and smaller of their own free will.

"Forgot it was there." He mumbled, smiling. He then pulled the needle out of his arm and dropped it on the floor, where it landed beside a blackened spoon and an old lighter. I was so angry I couldn't speak. "Just one. I just wanted one. It'll be better now." He said, burrowing under the ragged blankets on his bed.

I walked out and slammed the door. What the hell do I do now?

I paced around the apartment for a few minutes, trying to think, to collect my worn-out mind. Eventually I sank wearily onto the couch, rubbing my forehead, trying to figure out what has to happen now. I honestly have no idea where to go from here.

**(Collins' Perspective)**

When I got back to the apartment that night it was to find Mark sitting in a chair facing Roger's bedroom door and scowling like I've never seen him scowl before.

"Uh-oh." I said. "What happened?" He turned slowly to look at me. His eyes were red enough for me to tell that he'd been crying. He took a long time to answer, his jaw clenching and releasing a few times before he spoke.

"I found him high this afternoon." Mark told me.

"What? How? Are you sure?" I asked in a rush. There's no way. No way. "How did he get out?"

"He didn't. He didn't have to." Mark said, facing the door again.

"What do you mean? How did he get it?"

"There's a hole in the wall. From what I got out of him, he forgot he'd left it there."

"No. No. How did we miss that?" I asked, confused, pissed off that we'd overlooked it.

"Because it was behind his dresser." Mark said. "I don't know what to do. I just- I need to take a nap. Can I go take a nap?" He asked me pitifully.

"Yes. Of course. Go." I said loudly. Then quietly, as the rest of our conversation had been, "Stay in there." I pointed to his bedroom door. He looked at me, confused. I motioned for him to be quiet and he nodded, shrugged and went to his room. I opened the door to Roger's room and found him standing in the corner, his arms folded.

"Go ahead. I'm ready." He said.

"What? Go ahead with what?" I asked, not understanding.

"Yell. Lock me in. I don't care." Pause. "Where's Mark?"

"He left, man." I lied.

"Fuck off." Roger said.

"I'm serious. I assumed he said goodbye to you, but hey- he was pretty pissed. I wouldn't have said goodbye, either."

"Shut the hell up, Collins- Mark wouldn't just leave." Roger said, but I could tell he was starting to get worried.

"After what you did? Shoot, I wouldn't have even stayed to make sure someone was here to try and stop you from taking the next hit. I'd have split and left you to rot." I thought maybe I'd gone too far, that he wouldn't believe it, but he bought it hook, line, and sinker.

"No. Because- because if you felt that way you wouldn't be here."

"Boy, I just haven't kicked you out yet. Mark didn't want to be here when I did." I told him.

"What? No. Collins-"

"You've got ten minutes." I said calmly.

"Mark? MARK?" Roger cried, freaked out. He started for the door, but I blocked his exit. "Mark, don't let him do this-" He called out.

"Stop. He's not here. He can't save you. You're wasting time. Pack what's yours and go."

"You can't let him do this! Please. Please-" Roger said, stepping away from me, thinking that Mark really wasn't here, that this was really happening, "you can't kick me out, Collins. Please, don't. I don't have anywhere to go…" Roger's eyes grew wide, realizing the truth in that statement. We're all he has. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mark standing in the doorway to his room.

"Get your stuff." I told Roger. He turned and started hammering at the wall, angry and scared and upset and about a hundred other different things. I took the moment to look at Mark to try and somehow get across to him that I wasn't really kicking Roger out. Mark looked uncertain, but he didn't say a word.

Roger looked wildly around the room for things that he wanted, then stopped. "I don't- I don't have a bag." He said, his voice lost and forlorn. Then he switched gears. "You know what? No. No! I'm not going. You can't make me go." He stated, rooting himself to the floor.

"I _could_ call the cops about a roommate with drug paraphernalia." I told him evenly.

"No, you-" He paused, his face crumpling as he tried to hold off tears. "-you, you can't. Collins, I'm so sorry. Please, I'm sorry, please, please-" I held my ground, arms crossed, and he leaned against his bed, totally breaking down, "I'm scared. Collins." He looked up at me. "I can't end up like her. If I go, I'll end up like- like- her." He dropped to his knees, sobbing. Mark had come and was standing right outside the door next to me.

I hated to see Roger that way but knew he had to be at that point in order to really understand that we are his only option. Up 'til now he hasn't valued that. He hasn't valued what we're trying to do for him.

"Roger."

"Yeah, I know, ten minutes. Jesus, Collins, just give me a second." Roger said, trying to compose himself.

"Roger." I waited until he looked up at me. "You can stay."

"What?" He didn't believe me.

"You can stay." I repeated.

"Thank you." He whispered, starting to cry all over again. This is the longest he's been in his right mind in weeks. I walked away from the door and nodded to Mark that he could go in. As I walked to the kitchen, I heard Mark say,

"You'll never end up like her. We won't let you. Shh. Shh. It's ok."


	4. Perfect Timing

-1My Respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready For The Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

** One Week Later **

"Maureen," I asked, feeling helpless and used and lower than low and about a thousand other different things, "what are you saying here? What's happening?"

She'd just told me that she'd cheated on me with another guy. She didn't say his name. A friend of the friend she's been staying with.

"I don't know." She replied, picking away at her purple nail polish. I could tell that she felt bad. Well, I _hope_ she feels bad. At least, she said she did. Should I believe her? I don't know.

"Are you breaking up with me?" No! I should have said 'Do you want to break up?' I'm always letting her call all the shots.

"What? _No_! I don't want to break up, baby." She told me. Oh, thank God. I smiled and reached for her hand across the table, but she continued, "But… maybe it _is_ best if we… take a break." My hand landed back on my side of the table. "No, no, it's not because of that. Just hear me out, ok?" Maureen asked.

"Ok." I said quietly.

"It's just that- well, we never see each other anymore. I'm not even living there, Mark. As soon as this thing with Roger is over, it'll be fine. We'll be fine. But I think we should take a break until then. Ok? Not because of… what I did." She finished lamely. "I made a mistake, baby, and I'm really sorry." She told me. But does she _mean_ it?

Whether she really did or not, I decided to believe her. "It's ok." I said, looking up at her.

"We're ok?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah." I said, thought I wasn't exactly sure that I was.

"Ok. Great. I've gotta go. See you later, Marky!" And she left me in the Life without so much as a kiss goodbye. Or an 'I still love you'. Or any form of the break from Roger that I so desperately needed but wouldn't admit to.

I paid the bill and walked the few blocks home, the questions that I hadn't asked her echoing over and over in my head. _Was that the first time? The _only_ time? _They were questions that had been haunting me for quite a while.

They were questions that haunted me because I knew the answers.

**(Collins' Perspective)**

"And why do _you_ look so sad?" I asked Mark as he came back into the loft, then motioned to Roger, who was sleeping on the couch.

"I'm not, actually. It was nice to get out for a while." He told me.

"And I'm sure that seeing Maureen didn't hurt any." I joked with him. He blushed. Good, I'm glad it actually went well.

"And why are _you_ in such a good mood?" He asked.

"Well, I, uh-" I started to say, then froze. I can't do this. Not to Mark. Not right now. He needs me.

But I know that if I tell him this, he'll tell me to go. He'll say that it's ok, that he'll be fine, that he can take care of Roger. He'll say that. And maybe it'll be true. He'll tell me I should go.

And, secretly, that's what I want him to say. I want him to tell me that I'm free to… do whatever I want. I need him to tell me that. And I need to not feel guilty about it. But I should. And I do.

I don't know who I'm kidding. I already know that I'm going.

"What's up?" Mark asked. I almost couldn't look at him.

"I was offered a job at MIT." I said in what I hoped was a neutral voice.

"That's awesome!" Mark said, smiling and clapping me on the back. I pointed at Roger, reminding him to be quiet. "Well, why do you seem so bummed? This is a good thing." He asked, lowering his voice.

"It's bad timing." I told him. Mark thought about that for a second, glancing over at Roger.

"It's perfect timing. You should take it." Mark advised me and I smiled inwardly. Typical Mark. Predictable Mark.

"Are you sure? I mean, Roger-" I began, but Mark cut me off.

"-is getting better." Pause. "When do you go?"

"End of the week." I told him. "You're really ok with this?"

"Yeah." He said. "I'm really excited for you."

"But are you _happy_?" I surprised myself by asking. He froze momentarily.

"Honestly? I don't really think that I'm anything right now." Pause. "But that's the way it has to be." He glanced at Roger again and I knew what he meant. He had to distance himself from Roger in order to help him. It made sense.

I told Mark that I needed to pick up a few things that I wanted to take with me (my possessions are currently scattered between the dwellings of numerous friends) and left, so happy I thought I'd burst.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

A few minutes after Collins left, Roger woke up in one of the foulest moods he's had, and certainly the worst since the big meltdown last week.

I tried to divert Roger's attention to something else by telling him of Collins' news, but instead he just started in with a tangent of, "Good, maybe now we can having some fucking _fun_ around here. I'm _so_ sick of this bullshit! He's a freaking Nazi and you're no effing better and I _hate_ this, I _hate_ this loft, and I swear to God, it's not gonna help. I want a hit so _bad _right now-" And that was when I snapped. I threw the glass that I was trying to calmly sip water out of against the wall and Roger jumped. "Jesus, what the hell, Mark?" He spat at me, pacing the room. It was too much. Roger, Maureen, Collins. I was being let down by them all.

I strode to the door to the loft.

"Mark? Where're you- what're you doing?" He asked me, confused.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Go. Just go." Mark shot at me, opening the door.

"What?" I asked, surprised. He's just gonna let me go?

Mark walked away from the door and stood near the couch. "I can't do it anymore. So… just go." Mark said. He fixed his gaze on me and stood there, waiting for me to leave.

I took a few steps towards the door, feeling him out.

He didn't move an inch.

Shit. Oh, shit. Do I have any money? No. Doesn't matter. I started getting excited, felt the blood coursing rapidly throughout my body, wondering where my dealer, any dealer, would be. My hands rubbed together, already eager for the next hit.

Before I got to the door, however, Mark said, "But don't come back." I stopped in my tracks. What?

"What?" I asked aloud, my back to him.

"If you leave, If you go get high, don't bother ever coming back. I won't let you in." Mark said evenly, no expression in his voice.

I stood there for a few seconds, completely stuck. I wanted to feel good _so _badly. I could go feel good _right now_.

But… could I live without my best friend? I would have nowhere to go. Do I want to get high more than I have a desire for a home? More than I need Mark? I didn't know for sure, but I was about to find out.

I took a deep breath and headed for the door.

And then I closed it.

And I knew that this time, _I _had made the decision, that it hadn't been made _for_ me.

And I knew that I would be ok.


	5. Through My Eyes

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready For The Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Why aren't there ever any kids?" Roger asked one afternoon, staring down at the street. Collins left this morning. Roger watched him go and then sat there long after Collins was unrecognizable in the crowds. He's has been sitting there ever since.

"What do you mean?" I asked, looking up from the notebook I was jotting down script ideas in.

"It's three-thirty. No kids walking home from school or playing or… anything. There are never any kids." He explained.

"Well, aside from the fact that it's Saturday- this isn't the best neighborhood. Or the best people. I don't know. I don't expect the artist down the block or the photographer next door or the actress downstairs to have kids. Do you?" I asked. He shook his head, not looking away from the window. "It's not our focus. It's not our life. Maybe someday."

"Yeah. That makes sense." He mumbled, laying his head down on his knees.

---------------------------

**The Next Day**

---------------------------

"I was thinking about going up to the roof. Want to come?" I asked Roger. He sat up quickly.

"Yes. Yeah. Let's go." He hopped off of the couch and ran to his room, emerging in seconds with shoes and a jacket. I laughed inwardly, amused at his eagerness, then took a deep breath and sighed it out, proud of how changed he is. His body needs coke so much less than it did even a week ago. And that simply means that he has long good spells in between the bad ones. But the good ones are taking over. And they're great. "Come on. _Mark_." He said, annoyed that I wasn't moving fast enough. I laughed and got my stuff on.

"All right." I grabbed my camera and walked out the door first, blocking the stairs to go down.

I saw Roger see me do that, saw him flinch, saw him see himself through my eyes. In my mind I said, 'I'm sorry, Rog. It's going to take more time.'

He didn't say anything until we stepped out of the stairwell and onto the roof. Then he took a deep breath and sighed,

"I love the spring." He smiled, leaning against the wall and looking around at everything in sight. It's been so long since he's voiced a love of _anything_. I'm glad we came up here. "You're quiet." He said to me, then looked away.

"Just looking at a new man." I said quietly, not intending for him to hear me. I realized that he had heard me when he said,

"A doomed man."

"You're not doomed, Roger." I said, surprised.

"Bullshit." He said, though not aggressively. Roger spoke with the air of one resigned to his fate. I don't think he's really come to grips with having HIV. But that's ok. That will come in time, too.

"Look at Collins, he-" I began, but he cut me off.

"Collins! Oh, come on, Mark! Collins is doomed, too." Roger said, laughing bitterly. "He just hides it better." Pause. "He spends his life trying to impart his knowledge to the youth of a nation of hypocrites who despise him. He's hiding. He's unfulfilled. He's dying just like everybody else." Roger spat, and I let him. I may have disagreed with some (but not all) of the things that he said, but I let him say it all the same.

He needs release somehow.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Hey- Mark?" I asked him, lying on the floor near the window. He looked at me strangely (for about the fifth time) for choosing to lie there.

"Yeah?"

"Where's Maureen?"

"What do you mean?" He asked. He's always asking me what I mean these days. Like I'm never clear enough the first time.

"Where's Maureen? Did she move out?"

"Sort of."

"Why?" I asked, trying to ignore the nagging in the back of my head- the urge, desire for the one thing that I know I can't have. I closed my eyes and rubbed my face with both hands.

"Honestly? Because I was afraid she'd get hurt if she stayed here." He told me. I was grateful that he was honest, but it hurt all the same. Even if it was true. Even if I'd proved his fear right every time I hurt him. Even so.

"Oh."

"But- well, if I'm being honest- she hasn't been back in a while because-" I heard him take a deep breath. "Because we're not seeing each other right now."

"What?" I sat up and looked at him, surprised. "What do-"

"She cheated on me. And I think I'm only now realizing that I'm really pissed off about it." Mark said quietly, staring down at his hands. Typical. Get mad after the fact. Let her off the hook. At least she told him the truth. For once.

"Are you- over? Or-"

"Just… on a break, I guess. I don't know. I've been trying not to think about it." He said. I got up and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

"That sucks, Mark." I started biting my lip, which hurt like hell. They were raw from me biting them every time I wanted a hit. I've got to figure out a better way to curb it.

"It is what it is. Don't worry about it." He said, but I felt so guilty about it that it was hard not to worry about it.

"Well, but-"

"Don't. It's not worth it. I'm trying to tell myself that." He switched gears suddenly, standing up. "Are you hungry? I'm gonna make something for dinner." And then, without waiting for an answer, he walked quickly into the kitchen and started rummaging around in the fridge.

God, I feel so helpless! And stuck. And lost. And angry.

And grateful. And strong. And so, so blessed.

------------------------

**The Next Day**

------------------------

Maureen showed up the next day after calling and telling Mark she was coming over. I headed for my room, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever was about to happen. Because something _was_ about to happen.

I sat on the bed, my door only half-closed, and waited anxiously.

Will it be like it was when she- when April- and I fought? Screaming and yelling and throwing things but always, always ending with sex?

I don't think I've ever heard them fight before. At least, I've never heard Mark fight with her. I've heard the tail end of Maureen's tirades, though it seemed like it was always in the background, always so separate from me.

"Hey, baby." Maureen said to him. "Where'd Roger go in such a hurry?"

"We were up late. He's probably pretty wiped out." Mark told her, which wasn't a lie. We watched the stupidest movies together half of the night.

"How are you?" Maureen asked him after a pause.

"Good. Things are pretty good around here." Mark said, and I smiled, proud of myself. "How about you?"

"I'm ok." She responded. Then, "Listen, Marky, I need to tell you something. I- was really drunk the other night and I slept with someone. I'm really sorry, Marky. Do you forgive me?" Maureen asked. What the fuck? There was a long pause during which neither of them spoke. "Mark?"

"Well, we aren't really together right now, so it doesn't really matter, does it?" Mark finally said.

"What?" Maureen asked, surprised.

"You heard me." Mark said, annoyed.

"Well, yeah, but-" Maureen sounded stumped. "So you forgive me?" She asked.

"No." Mark said. Damn.

"No you don't forgive me?"

"That's what I said." He told her. "It doesn't seem like you care about our relationship, and we aren't technically in one, so you don't have to worry about it. Ever again." Pause. "You're free to go. We aren't together anymore. Do what you want." Fuck. I knew how hard it must have been for him to say that.

"I care! Don't say that. I care. Marky… Mark. I want to be with you." She said.

"You've got some way of showing it." He retorted, and I heard him stand up. "I think you should go."

"No. No, Mark, come on. I'll do whatever you want. Really. I love you. Don't act this way." Maureen said, beginning to get worried. "You- you can't do this. We're good together. Baby, honey, you love me. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. Please. Honey." Through the crack in my door I saw her start to kiss him.

It was all starting to make sense. She was attracted to power. When Mark's being meek little Mark, there's no appeal. But here he is finally standing up to her and she can't apologize fast enough.

And he fell for it. And tomorrow he'll be her slave again. And so tomorrow she'll start running around on him again.


	6. Out Of Our Minds

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready For The Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Don't, Mark. I need you to leave me alone for a little while, ok? Just- just let me be." Roger told me, his voice muffled because his head was buried under a pillow. I could tell he was crying.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just- yeah." Came the quiet response.

"Ok." I walked back into the living room, where Maureen was sitting on the couch watching TV. "Sorry about that." I said, sitting next to her and putting my arm around her.

"No problem." She said, flipping through channels quickly.

"Are you bored? We could do something else." I said, trying to keep her attention. I know she doesn't like just sitting around here all the time.

"No, it's fine. I know we can't go out." Pause, and then she surprised me by saying, "I wouldn't want to risk it. He's come a long way." She looked at me. "You helped him come a long way." I wasn't sure how to respond to it. It felt really good to hear her say that.

I smiled slowly. "Thanks. That means a lot." I told her, hoping that she would understand what I meant. Maureen leaned over and kissed me and my heart soared. This is what I love her for. For moments like this.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

I sat up in bed tired and lonely and upset, rubbing my face with both hands, wishing I had something to soothe me, hearing Mark and Maureen having sex in the living room, and feeling lower than low.

My hands were shaking. Whenever I think of April they shake. If nothing else, I cannot hold my hands still when she's on my mind. Which is almost always.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes again and fell back onto my pillow.

Out of our minds. We were both out of our minds. In love. In drugs. In each other. In the moment. In recklessness.

God, I loved her.

Everything just went wrong. We were both out of control. How did we get that way? We were so lost. She stayed lost. I didn't.

But I would have. No doubt in my mind. If it weren't for Mark and Collins- I don't want to think about how I would have ended up if it weren't for Mark and Collins. How I still might end up if I'm not careful. I will be careful.

I licked my lips, feeling the sting it generated and relishing it. Two months ago I wouldn't have felt that. Two months ago I was as good as dead.

Two months ago April chose to be that way.

Tears poured out of my eyes in a rush and I cried silently for both times I lost April. The first being the day I realized she had to be high just to be around me. The second being the day that we found her in the bathtub.

"Why do you have to go?" I heard Mark say, his voice slightly raised.

"I just do. Ok? I'll call you tomorrow." Maureen said. "'Night, Mark." Mark didn't say anything, and then I heard the door close. I waited a few minutes, trying not to get lost in my thoughts again, and got up to use the bathroom. I still have to prepare myself to walk in there.

"Hey. You hungry or anything?" Mark asked me when I came out of the bathroom.

"Uh, no. Not really."

"Ok."

"Did you and Maureen fight?" I asked him.

"Uh, no. Not really." He echoed me. I didn't press his issue and he decided not to press mine. Maybe it wasn't the best scenario, but for tonight it will have to do. Sometimes we both just need a little time.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

**One Week Later**

"Roger. Want to go grocery shopping with me?" I asked him. He looked up at me, surprised.

"What?"

"The grocery store. We need groceries again." I repeated.

"No, I'm sorry, I did hear you." His breath quickened and he pulled on his ear. "Do you… think I'm ready?" He asked.

"Do _you_ think you're ready?" I countered.

"I- I- I- I don't know." He stammered. "I don't think so. No."

"Ok. No problem." I said, glad he's being honest with himself. And with me. "Is it Ok if I call Maureen to see if she can hang out with you while I go? Or to see if she'll stop at the store for us?" I asked him.

"Yeah. That's fine."

"Ok." I said, though I didn't know if she would do either. We haven't really talked since she was here last. I dialed the number of the apartment she's staying at and waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?" Maureen asked. Thank God.

"Hey, it's Mark."

"Oh. Hi." She said, sounding less-than-thrilled. I tried to ignore it.

"Hey. Um, would you be able to come over today? I need to go to the grocery store." I told her.

"I'm kind of busy, Mark. Can it wait?" She asked impatiently.

"Well, I guess I could wait until tomorrow, if that's better for you." I said, trying to accommodate her.

"Yeah. Tomorrow should be ok."

"Ok. Great. Thanks a lot, Maureen. Would you rather come here and stay with Roger or go to the store and I'll stay?" I asked her.

"I'll come to the loft. Ok? I need to go." She said.

"Ok. I'll talk to you later. Thanks Maureen. I love you." I said.

"'Love you, too. 'Bye." And she hung up.

"Why do you let her do that to you?" Roger asked me suddenly.

"What?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"That. Walk all over you. Ten to one says that she's not doing anything right now." Roger said, annoyed.

"Hey, don't say that. She wouldn't lie to me like that. She knows that stuff's tough around here right now." I defended her.

"Right."

"Don't, okay?" I said, annoyed. I went to the kitchen to see what was left. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Roger asked.

"We've got three slices of cheese, one beer, and a quarter of a loaf of bread." I said. Then, jokingly, "Tonight, we feast like kings."

"Really, really poor kings." Roger added.

"Displaced noblemen, really." I corrected.

"Indentured servants." He one-upped me.

"Peasants." I said.

"Peons." Roger shot back.

"Touche." And we laughed harder than we have in months.

-------------------------------------------------

_This was short, I know, but I just wanted to do a quick update. Next week I'll provide a longer chapter, I promise. And, hey- if the response is good, perhaps I'll update as soon as Sunday…That wasn't a bribe, I promise… Just… incentive? Heehee. Let me know what you think!_

_Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks for reading this and that I hope you liked it! And if you're reading my stories, please review! I hate soliciting reviews, but when I get them it's total motivation to write more chapters, you know? So- review! Good, bad, whatever- I want to hear feedback! Ok. Enough crazy talk. _

_My spring break is this coming week, so I'll have exorbitant amounts of leisure time with which to write more chapters… assuming you all want to read them!_

_-Morgan_


	7. Baby Steps

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready For The Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"We need something better to do." Roger said from his place on the couch. He'd been tooling around with his guitar (though not actually playing it) all day. "How about a change of scene?" He asked, resting his guitar against the couch as I wiped a little bit of sweat from my forehead, wishing we had a fan or an air conditioner for about the hundredth time.

"Such as?" I asked, though I all ready knew the answer. I looked up from my camera and at Roger. I'd been filming him most of the morning.

"The roof." He told me.

"Ok." All week we've been going back and forth between the loft and the roof. We've been up there so much I think I'm in danger of getting some actual color on my skin.

Roger grabbed his shoes and put them on, all ready in a better mood.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

I waited a little bit for Mark but when he didn't move from the kitchen table I said,

"Come on." I was feeling pretty impatient and restless. I tapped my fingers against my thighs, waiting.

"Go ahead." He said, writing something down in a notebook.

"What?" I asked.

"You go. I'm gonna stay here." He told me.

"But-"

"I just want to finish this. I'll be right up." He said trying to encourage me.

"…Ok." I bit my lip and headed for the door, kind of freaked out.

"Leave the door open, ok? Try and get some air moving through here." Mark said.

It was a convenient lie, and I was grateful for it.

Yes, it's June and it's hot in the loft and _yes_, leaving the door and windows open _might_ create a little cross-breeze, but I knew he really just wanted to be able to watch and listen for me if I came back down before he went up.

He's still cautious and I'm still afraid.

I smiled and headed up the stairs.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I positioned myself so that I could easily see through the door and into the hallway and then set about working on one of my screenplays.

I had no intention of going up to the roof. Roger and I have been taking little baby steps for a few weeks now.

It started when I stopped sleeping in his bedroom in front of the door, though that just means that I sleep on the couch instead. We've been working on it, little by little.

When he sits on the fire escape I'm only slightly afraid he'll get the urge to go down those stairs.

The new challenge is going up to the roof by himself.

It all seems so condescending- Will Roger be able to handle being alone? But… it's the way it has to be. For now.

Roger had been gone for about five minutes when the telephone rang.

"Speak." Came the greeting from our machine.

"Hey, it's Collins." Pause. I got up to go get the phone, happy he called. We haven't heard from him since he left, with the exception of two MIT postcards. "I'm going to keep talking until the tape runs out, or you pick up the phone, whichever comes first. Oh. Unless it's not a good time. In which case I'll leave it at-"

"Hey, Collins." I greeted him.

"Took you long enough."

"Just testing your dedication." I replied with a laugh.

"You sound good." He told me, a little surprise in his voice. I decided not to be offended by it. "How're things there?"

"Really pretty good. Looking up. How about you? How's MIT?" I asked. "Took _you_ long enough to call."

"It's good, it's good. Right now I'm just filling in for a professor who got sick. It's cool because since they're summer classes I can dick around with the guy's syllabus all I want and they'll never know. I'm giving it my own, personal flair." Collins said and I laughed.

"So will you be able to come home at all this summer?" I asked.

"Probably not. They've got me for both summer sessions. And, hopefully, if these go well I'll get a contract for the fall." He told me. I could tell he was excited about it.

"That's great!" I lied, bummed that he'll be so far away.

"Yeah." Pause. "Is Roger up for a phone call?"

"He's up on the roof." I told Collins proudly.

"What? Is that-" He began, but I cut him off.

"Safe? Yeah. He's doing really well, Collins. Really good." Pause. "But don't worry. I'm keeping my eye on him."

"Door open?" Collins guessed. I laughed.

"You know me too well." I responded.

"I'm omniscient." He told me matter-of-factly. "How're things with you and Maureen?" Collins asked. How _are_ things with me and Maureen? Currently, pretty shitty.

"Uh, we're ok. We're… hanging in there." Pause, then, "She's her usual self." Whatever that meant.

"Wonderful." Collins replied sarcastically. "Have you-"

"Whoops, hang on." I said, hearing the sound of feet running down the stairs.

Roger suddenly launched himself into the apartment and flung the door closed, locking it. He then ran into his room and closed _that_ door, locking it as well. I could hear him pacing back and forth inside.

"Roger? What's going on?" I called through the door. I half expected someone to start banging on the door to the loft.

"Nothing!" He called back to me.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?" I asked, concerned. I heard him stop moving. "Roger?"

"Don't you dare laugh at me." He said from his room.

"…Ok…" I agreed, completely confused.

"If you laugh at me I swear to God I'll deck you." He warned.

"_Ok_." I repeated. He unlocked the door and opened it, then stood there trying to appear macho, but really he just looked awkward.

"I saw my dealer." Roger told me, freaked out. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Ok." I said for what seemed like the twentieth time. "Where was he? Did he see you?"

"No. He was down on his corner." Roger said, mopping up some sweat from his forehead with his hands and wiping it on his jeans. I could feel the corners of my mouth trying to twist upward into a grin and fought it with every fiber of my being. The image of Roger spotting his dealer down on the street and running back here was just too funny _not_ to laugh at, regardless of the gravity of the situation. "Don't you _dare_ laugh at me!" Roger repeated, but suddenly seemed to find the humor in it himself.

While we laughed, I remembered that Collins was waiting.

"Go talk to Collins. He's on the phone."

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Are you ready?" Mark asked me from the doorway to the loft. The two of us were going to go to the grocery store.

"Uh, yeah." I said, getting up from my place at the kitchen table and walking towards him. I was grateful that we were going early in the day. I didn't think I'd run into anybody that I couldn't handle. They're probably all too drugged out to face the light of day, anyway.

It's so fucking scary to realize that that used to describe me, too.

Mark and I left the loft and trudged down the three flights of stairs to the front stoop. I paused there and looked around me. I hadn't been out of the building in over two months.

Things were still run-down and forgotten. There were still homeless people scattered here and there, most heading in the direction of the lot. This stuff I knew. These things I saw from our windows and from our roof. These things I knew.

It was the petrified feeling of insignificance that I didn't know. That I hadn't- ever- known before.

"You ok?" Mark asked me.

"Uh, yeah." I told him, breaking away from my thoughts.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

We set out for the Emporium at an easy pace. It was still early so it wasn't too hot. I could sense Roger's getting more and more agitated as the few blocks to the Emporium passed under our feet. His eyes were darting everywhere and his hands were clenched into fists in his pants pockets. He gradually started walking faster and faster, not even aware that we were nearly jogging.

Maybe this was a mistake. One too many steps in too short an amount of time.

"Roger? You ok?" I asked him, a little out of breath. His strides are a lot longer than mine.

"Yeah. Yeah. Let's just- it won't take long, right?" He asked, staring at the Emporium, which was looming ahead of us.

"Not long at all." I said. We went inside into the refreshing air-conditioned air. Roger walked just slightly behind me as I grabbed the essentials- bread, cheese, coffee, some lunch meat, and milk. We didn't get much because we didn't need much. And we didn't have money for more, anyway.

"We're done?" He asked, his hands folded across his chest. I could tell he was actively trying to get himself to stop moving nervously.

"Yeah. We've just got to pay." Pause. "Are you sure you're ok?" I asked him, getting kind of worried. He gave a non-committal sound and we got in line at the register. After we paid, I grabbed his arm and led him outside. He was really starting to freak out. "I'll race you back home." I said jokingly. He didn't hear me. His eyes were back to quickly scanning everything around us. Sweat was starting to break out on the bridge of his nose and his upper lip.

We went home just as quickly as we had left, Roger almost running by the time we got to the front steps. I was trailing behind, encumbered by my short legs and grocery bag. Roger was in the door and up the stairs way ahead of me.

This was so stupid. This was a mistake. I should have known better. He's still fighting himself. I should have known better.

Roger was waiting for me outside of the loft, looking both apologetic and angry.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly.


	8. Rage

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready For The Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Hey- do you want to go to the park with me? It's really nice out." I said when Roger came out of the bathroom.

"Uh… No. I don't think so." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, ok." I put my camera bag back on the table. He saw me do it and cleared his throat.

"You go." He looked around. "I'll be ok." I rummaged around in my camera bag in order to give myself more time to think before I answered. Leave Roger alone here?

"Um…" I trailed off, unsure.

"Seriously." Roger said. "I kind of have no urge whatsoever to go out there. Not yet. Even with you. It's… not easy."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He said, and I believed him. After what happened last time we went out it was hard not to. He hasn't gone anywhere in weeks.

"Want me to have Maureen come over?" I asked him.

"Nah, it's ok. I'll be fine."

"Ok. Well, I'll be back in an hour." I picked my bag up again.

"Ok. See you then." And he flopped down onto the couch and assumed his normal 'nap' position: One foot flat on the floor, one arm hanging off of the couch, and his face smashed into the back of the couch. I laughed and shook my head, then walked out the door.

…Only I didn't go far. Once outside I kind of had an attack of nerves and decided to film around our street. I'm not saying I don't trust Roger, because I do… mostly.

Feeling guilty, I hid across the street and prepared to wait and make sure he wasn't tempted to go anywhere.

He wasn't.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

I stood in the doorway to my room watching as Maureen dictated to Mark where her stuff should go. Mark's elated that she's moving back in and to be honest, I'm kind of glad, too. Mostly because there'll be someone else around.

Part of me thinks that she's only back because this way she doesn't have to come up with rent money.

The only good thing about the rise (or demise) of Benjamin Coffin III is that we don't have to worry about making rent every month.

I shook my head at the way Mark is wrapped around Maureen's finger and retreated into my room, shutting the door. The heat of late summer caused my tshirt to stick to my skin as I sprawled across my bed. I did my part. I helped carry all of Maureen's junk back up here. Good deed done.

--------------------

"Roger, come on, lets go get some dinner." Mark said, coming into my room. Benny had come by earlier and gifted us some money and groceries, which we're broke enough to accept. I could see Maureen in the living room, decked out in her finest for an evening out.

"No, you guys go ahead. I don't want to intrude." I told him.

"What? You wouldn't intrude. Come on. It'll be fun. We're going to the Life." Mark said, throwing my shoes at me.

"I don't want to. Really." I told him again. He looked disappointed and his brow furrowed.

"Roger, you have to get back out there sometime." He said quietly.

"Mark? I said I didn't want to. Ok?" I said, annoyed. He keeps trying to get me to go places with him and every time I refuse. It's my life, my decision. There is nothing out there that I want to be a part of.

"Fine." He snapped at me. "See you later." And he grabbed Maureen by the hand and they left. I glared up at my ceiling, frustrated that I'd ticked him off. He understands so much about me. How can he not understand this?

I focused my gaze on the retired track marks lining my arm, flexing my muscles slightly and watching them shift.

Feeling the burning beginning at the back of my throat and behind my eyes, I furiously pounded my fist into the marks, then let one groaning sob escape my lips.

I'm dying.

I'm dying.

I'm dying.

Why can't he see that? I can't go out there. I can't walk among life with the knowledge that mine is numbered. I don't want that burden.

I don't want the doctor's appointments I know are looming ahead of me. I don't want the handouts Benny gives so freely. I don't want the shame of my mistakes. I don't want Maureen's sympathetic gaze. I don't want Mark's soothing words. I don't want what's waiting for me, lurking behind every door and window and slinking along with me in the shadows. I don't want the tears on my face or the memories of the life I used to lead or the pain of losing April or the anger in my heart or the torrent of emotions that I can't get a grip on or the fear that has closed around my heart like a vise.

I don't want to die.

I closed my hand into a fist and attacked myself once more.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Roger? What happened to you?" I asked, shaking him awake. There was a nasty bruise covering his arm.

"What?" He mumbled, half-asleep.

"Your arm." I said. He rubbed his face with his hands, then looked at where I was pointing.

"Oh. Nothing. It's not a big deal." He said, yawning.

"What'd you do?" I asked.

"Walked into the door handle." He said.

"Repeatedly?" I asked, not buying it.

"Repeatedly." He agreed. I looked at him archly and he rolled his eyes. "Drop it. It's nothing."

"Right." Pause. I sat down on the chair. We didn't say anything for a few minutes. "Some of my film got wet." I said, getting up to get my camera bag. "I'm going to see if I can salvage any of the footage." Roger snorted. "What? I'm fighting for a cause, here." I informed him, laughing.

"Nothing can be salvaged. Everything is doomed."

"Keep telling yourself that, Depression Boy." I laughed again.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He snapped suddenly.

"It was a joke, Roger."

"Real fucking funny." He stood up and stalked over to me, yanking my film reel out of my hands.

"Hey! Give that-" I started to say, reaching for the reel, surprised and pissed that he took it like that, but he cut me off.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Why don't you open your fucking eyes, Mark, and look around you? Do you see _anything_ worth salvaging here? Is there anything here that's worth fighting for?" I spat at Mark.

"Yes." Mark said simply. I waited for him to tell me what, but he didn't open his mouth, just looked at me, his hand held out, waiting for his film.

"Such as?"

"Everything. For me, everything is worth fighting for." He replied.

"That's self-righteous bullshit, Mark, and you know it." And I threw the film reel across the room.

"It's not bullshit!" He cried out, offended. "Is it bullshit to believe in someone? Or something? No. It's not. I _believe_ in my work. I believe in the preservation, in the truth. Therefore I believe in everything. Therefore I fight for everything." He said, going to pick up his reel, the film mostly unraveled.

"That wasn't the question." I told him. "Just because someone fights for something doesn't mean it's worth it."

"That's up to the individual. You can't judge that." Mark said sharply.

"Oh fuck you. That's the easy answer. A total copout."

"I'm not having this argument with you. I've got stuff to do." He said, walking past me to the table.

"Fighting for something? Toothpaste, perhaps?"

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Fuck you, Roger." I said, possibly the most pissed off that I've been in a good, long while.

"Yeah, well, fuck you, too." He shot back, then walked into his room and slammed the door, leaving me with a jumble of film spilling out of my hands.

"What the hell's going on?" Maureen asked, coming out of our room. She'd been taking a nap, too.

"Roger's in a bad mood." I told her through clenched teeth.

"Big shock." She replied. "Did he do that?" She asked, looking at the mess in my hands. I nodded. "What a prick. Can we save any of it?" She came and helped me lay it out, even as I told her that I didn't know. "Well, let's find out." She kissed me on the cheek, and rubbed my back gently. God, I love her.

"Maureen? How about we forget about this and go do something fun?" I asked her.

"Like what?" She smiled.

"Like anything that doesn't involve the apartment." I responded, pulling her close. She threaded her fingers through my hair.

"I can think of a few things we could do _in_ the apartment that are pretty fun." She said suggestively. I laughed.

"So can I." She kissed me on the lips passionately, then said,

"But, I mean, hey- whatever you want to do."

"Honestly? I just want to get out of here." I told her. She looked into my eyes searchingly for a minute, then nodded.

"Ok. Where to?"

"Museum? Park? Movie?" I listed off. "I don't care. Just somewhere, anywhere, with you." Maureen smiled again.

"Deal." She kissed me again. "I love you." She whispered. Wow. She hardly ever tells me that without me saying it first. Or unless she needs something.

Maybe for the first time she's realizing that _I _might need something. She entwined her fingers with mine and led me out.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

When I heard Mark leave, I felt guilty and walked to the front windows, looking for him down on the street. He and Maureen looked pretty happy walking hand-in-hand down the block.

I glanced down at the bruise on my arm and sighed. I traced the track marks with my finger and whispered,

"My permanent tattoos of anger, sadness, and rage." I was startled out of a brief silence when the phone rang.

"Hey, it's me, don't screen." Came Collins' voice. I fairly ran to the phone, eager to talk to him.

"Thomas."

"Uh-oh. What's wrong?" He asked, reading me instantly. I smiled.


	9. Try To Pretend

-1_Hey guys, sorry this has taken so long. It's been crazy here at school with the year winding down and shows opening and closing at the theatre and what-not. I feel very guilty for having neglected this story. _

_Did I mention that I had the opportunity to see the RENT tour here in Chicago twice while it was in town? _AMAZING!_ Nothing will ever compare with the original cast, or the first time I saw it in NYC, but still… it's a show that no matter who's playing what part it'll touch the audience. It was wonderful. _

_Long story short, here's the next installment. I hope you like it!_

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Ready For The Fight**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

Well, Roger and I have hit an all-time low in our friendship. He hasn't spoken to me in almost a week and he only talks to Maureen to piss me off. I don't know what to do here. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know why I'm still trying.

The only normal- well, normal for Roger, that is- thing that he's doing is incessantly playing his guitar. It's like he's on a quest to write the perfect song. The perfect expression. The perfect… epitaph? I don't know. I don't know a lot of things.

I'm not sure what to think about the fact that he's actually writing and playing in front of us. In the past he was always so secretive- we wouldn't even _hear_ a song until it was finished and ready to perform.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him, trying once again to get him to acknowledge me.

Roger ignored me and sang:

_Frustrated and neglected_

_Tormented and abused_

_I sit here dying_

_Leftover and misused_

_I'm sobbing into pillows_

_I feel like only half a man_

_Hiding in the shadows_

_Trying to live the best I can_

_But I'm feeling so downhearted_

_I'm feeling so confused_

_That ever since we parted_

_It's like I'm a man consumed_

_With every little thing_

_All that I can remember_

_About your face, your laughter_

_About your grace, what happened after_

_I try to write it down, get it out,_

_And purge myself of you_

_But all that really happens_

_Is that I fall again too soon_

_And I'm sobbing into pillows_

_I feel like only half a man_

_Hiding in the shadows_

_Trying to live the best I can…_

_But I can't_

_I can't_

_Get over you_

_Get over you_

_Get over you_

_So I turn my pen to anger_

_I turn my pen to hate_

_Exploring all the other things_

_That made you not so great_

_Like addiction and pain_

_Like the way you hate the rain_

_How about your sadness, your rage_

_And all the wars you'd wage_

_I try to write down, get it out,_

_And purge myself of you_

_But all that really happens_

_Is that I fall again too soon_

_Too soon_

_Too soon_

_Too soon_

_And I'm sobbing into pillows _

_I feel like only half a man _

_Hiding in the shadows _

_Trying to live the best I can_

_But I can't_

_I can't_

_Get over you_

_Get over you_

_Get over you_

_Maybe I don't want to_

_(Get over you)_

_Maybe I just want you_

_(Get over you)_

_But I can't _

_Have _

_You_

"Roger- that was amazing." I said. No response. I was about to explode on him and make him talk to me when he said quietly,

"That's pathetic. And a lie."

"What is?" I asked, treading the waters very, very carefully.

"I don't want her back. I don't think I ever really wanted her in the first place." Roger said, laying his guitar on the floor.

"You don't mean that."

"I mean exactly that." He returned, finally looking at me. "I just wanted _someone_. She was there. Yes, I loved her. I had to. We were the only things keeping each other from… well, you know." What the hell is he talking about? Wasn't _I_ there for him? As if Roger read my thoughts, he added, "You couldn't stop it or help me because you weren't in it to begin with." He took a deep breath. "April and I found comfort in each other's dysfunction. It was like we took turns playing 'Who's Life Is Worse?'" Pause. "April was the ultimate champion." He ripped up the music in his hands and got up to throw it in the garbage. "That's why that song was bullshit."

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Maureen! Will you _please_ SHUT UP?" Mark groaned from his place on the couch. Mark had wandered from one room to the next trying to get away from her and rest. He's told her three times that he has a headache and doesn't feel well but she just keeps on after him, following him around to get him to listen to her latest protest- a commentary about Arbor Day that for some reason involves maracas and a cymbal.

"I need you to watch this, Mark!" Maureen whined.

"Maureen, I will listen to it. I will help you with it. I promise. But right now I _do not_ feel well, so _please_ just let me be!" And he walked into their room and slammed the door.

"What a jerk." Maureen hissed through clenched teeth. Typical. Insensitive.

"He doesn't feel good, Maureen. Have a little compassion for your boyfriend." I said, annoyed that she would dismiss him like that. He's not serving _her_ purpose, so _he's _a jerk. She's a bitch.

"Whatever. I'm leaving." And she stormed into their room, said a few heated things to Mark, and stormed out of the loft.

"Hey." I said from the door to their room, which Maureen had left open.

"Hey." He said, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched.

"Do you need anything? Water or aspirin or-" I asked, making a sort of peace offering. He and I haven't been having the best week, friendship-wise.

"No. I'm just gonna try and get some sleep." He said quietly.

"Ok. Well, if you need anything…" I trailed off and he nodded.

------------------------

That bastard. That fucking jerk! I was so angry I almost took the door off its hinges. He pretended to be sick and have a fight with Maureen just so I'd feel bad and take him to the clinic. He tricked me into going there so that he could have the doctors check me out.

"Don't talk to me." I snapped to him when I got back to the waiting room. "Don't you dare even _look_ at me." I threw the door open and stalked out, Mark on my heels. "How the _fuck_ do you expect us to be able to pay for this-" I looked at the prescription in my hand "-AZT? Did you think about that when you lied to me?" He raced along after me, saying,

"We can pay for it. It's fine. Here, give it to me and I'll go fill it-" But before he could get his hands on it I shoved it deep into my pocket. "Roger, come on."

"No. Fuck you, Mark." And I didn't speak to him the rest of the way back to the loft. Once inside, Mark said,

"Be mad at me all you want, Roger. I don't care. You needed to go." I slammed the door in response.

The next morning a bottle of AZT with my name on it was sitting on the kitchen counter. I had calmed down enough to realize he was right, so I took my first dose. He didn't say where he got the money and I didn't ask him how he'd gotten the prescription out of my room. We left it at that and got back to normal.

As normal as it could be. It turned out that he really hadn't been feeling well. It turned out the fight between him and Maureen had not been made up. It turned out that he'd seen a doctor himself when I'd been in seeing mine. It turned out that Maureen didn't come back for four days.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I tried to pretend that I wasn't waiting around for Maureen to reappear. That the fact that she's been gone this long isn't out of the ordinary. That I haven't called the numbers of every person she might be with. To my knowledge. Every person, to my knowledge, that she might be with.

I tried to focus on other things. Roger, for example. He and I have come to an understanding of sorts. He's talking to me again. He's taking his AZT. We're ok. We played chess yesterday. We haven't played chess together in over a year. So, that's something.

I tried to pretend that he wasn't feeling sorry for me.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Get that out of my face, Mark." I sighed, frustrated.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He replied with a grin. I closed my eyes briefly, praying I wouldn't snap at him, and gently pushed his camera away.

For the past week it seems like every time I look up that lens is focused on me. I have tried to be patient and I have tried to stay calm. He's freaking out about Maureen. He needs something to do. I get that. I know how it goes. But enough is enough.

"Stop trying to document every move I make, Mark. It makes me feel like each time I do something it's the last time." I told him.

"That's not what I'm trying-" Mark began, but I spoke over him,

"But that's what it feels like."

"Oh." Pause and he stopped filming, setting the camera gently down on the table. "Sorry."

"It's ok." I turned away from him and picked up my guitar, heading over to the window to watch all of the life rushing by on the street below. Sunset was flooding the view as I clumsily picked out an old song on my guitar, and I sensed Mark reach for his camera once again, then hesitate and draw back his hand. Good.

I played a soft, imperfect melody in our otherwise silent loft for a few minutes, the notes that would have made the song beautiful escaping me before every measure.

All that was left of the song was an ugly harshness, an honesty, but even that wasn't what I was searching for. My fingers struggled in vain to find the right song.

"I'm gonna go film a little. Want to come?" Mark asked a little while later, after my tune had once again died out.

"No."

"Ok." He didn't push the issue. By now he knows not to. I haven't left the apartment since we went to the clinic a week ago. Tests and tests and tests and that drug called AZT. Experimental. Not proven. No cure.

Mark left the loft and we both pretended he wasn't going out in search of Maureen.


End file.
